East of Chrysochou Bay
by Spinnd
Summary: They spend their days in a Cypriot villa. A post-S8 AU fic.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: BBC, Kudos; they own it all.

**Warnings**: *Spoilers for S8, S9 finales

**A/N: **In an AU somewhere, Ros and Andrew spend their days in a Cypriot villa. Cross-posted to LJ, but sneaking some time on the weekend to do a bit of fic consolidating.

* * *

Andrew's never seen someone look so annoyed at a swimming pool.

"Sun's out," he ventures by way of greeting. "Nice day today."

"Is it?"

"I think so." He lopes over to the deckchair and flops down on it.

She starts to unfold her arms, then thinks twice, and crosses them again before seating herself on the plastic edge of the other chair.

"I assume you've heard?"

"Yes." He shades his eyes, wishing for his sunhat. "Heart attack."

Even he can hear the quote-unquotes. There is the briefest of flickers around her mouth.

"They gave him a state funeral."

"They didn't give me a state funeral."

"Six people came for mine."

She is squinting at him, challenging him. He looks away with a laugh.

"A little bird told me he was part of Nightingale," she continues in a knowing tone.

"Oh?" Andrew's vaguely aware of his non-surprise. "And this is the same Nightingale group you accused me of being part of."

"Suspected you of being part of. There is a difference." She leans slightly sideways, resting an elbow on the armrest. Her arms are unfolded now, her free hand occasionally worrying at the thin material flapping around her legs.

"But now you don't?"

"For your sake, you should hope not."

He smiles, because there is no malice in her voice, not anymore.

"They wouldn't have given us Cyprus if they thought I was. That ought to ease your mind." He stretches lazily and burrows deeper into the hard plastic back.

"It would, if I wasn't so bloody bored."

There is a minute of silence between them. A gull calls overhead.

"Have you ever thought of settling down?" He says, casually flicking his gaze from the far edge of the sea.

He sees her back snap straight, and she looks halfway between killing him and running away. Or killing him, then running away.

"No. Never wanted to."

"Have you given it a chance?"

Andrew reads her concession in the tilt of her chin. "Are you proposing to me?"

He flaps his hand and makes a face. "I'm more the slow-and-easy sort. I'd say: first date."

"What do you have in mind?"

"Don't know. Haven't thought this through yet."

She stares for several seconds, then, gets up in a swirl of white, and he panics.

"Wait, where are you going?"

"Need something to wear. Going down to the shops."

She brushes by him with a small grin.

"Borrowing your bike."


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: BBC, Kudos; they own it all.

**Warnings**: *Spoilers for S8, S9 finales

**A/N: **A visitor arrives. Cross-posted to LJ, but sneaking some time on the weekend to do a bit of fic consolidating.

* * *

When the black car pulls up the driveway, he nearly does a runner. But the man who climbs out the back seat smiles warmly when he sees him.

"Mr Lawrence."

"Please," he initiates the handshake, "Andrew will do. You are well?"

The man removes his shades. "Can't complain. Nice place you've got."

"Isn't it? Took a while - longer for Ros - but we eventually got settled."

"Is she around?"

"Kitchen," he indicates with a head tilt. "Come on, I'll show you in."

Of course, she slaps him when she sees him.

"What the bloody hell are you doing here?"

Lucas gives her a pained grin, and Andrew notes the alarming shade of red his cheek is turning. "Hello, Ros."

Only when she stalks back into the kitchen does he believe it safe enough to lean over and ask curiously: "What happened?"

"Long story. Chinese involvement. Very messy."

"He sold them a state secret," Ros supplies as she walks over, scowling, holding a tray between two mitts. "Harry wasn't amused."

Andrew's never seen someone look so annoyed at scones.

Lucas shifts on his side of the couch. "I was under orders. Harry couldn't know."

He thinks they both jump when she slams the tray on the coffee table.

"So what was it? Another bomb?"

"No. I jumped off a building."

She looks mildly impressed. "That must have hurt."

"A little." They see the scars on his forearms when he pulls up his sleeves. "Could've been worse."

"Could've been your funeral."

"I didn't get one."

Andrew smirks. "He wins."

She rolls her eyes at him, and heads back to the kitchen.

"So what now?" He asks.

Lucas stretches for the tray. "Apparently the guesthouse here is vacant."

"What, _our_ guesthouse?"

"For now. Temporary arrangement, until I find my own place. They thought I ought to have some company while I settle in."

"And they think we make good company?"

A scone is waved about. "Just for these, I'd say yes."

He concurs by nicking one off the tray for himself. And nearly drops it when Ros storms through the kitchen door, cursing a blue streak.

"Damn it all to hell. We're out of jam."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**: BBC, Kudos; they own it all.

**Warnings**: *Spoilers for S8, S9 finales, but is now totally, absolutely AU.

**A/N: **This day was inevitable, but definitely not unwelcomed. Proper final chapter, so this is quite definitely complete now; and I don't know how it happened, but I think I've just written Ros!fluff. *?*

* * *

"I'm not sure about this." She says to him when she reaches the altar.

They stare at her, the three of them, and the priest removes himself to rearrange the pages of the order of service.

"I won't force you." He finally manages to say, fighting the lump in his throat.

She frowns at him.

"What?"

His ears are hot with blood. "I don't want this. Not if you don't."

He is sure the world is coming to an end when she, very suddenly and unexpectedly, laughs.

"No," she dissolves into the most uncharacteristic giggle. "I mean, yes. Andrew."

"Ros…" Malcolm leans in worriedly at her side.

"This." She turns to regard the people in the pews collectively smiling at them. "I mean, this. Who are hell are they, and why are they here?"

Father Nicholas returns to them. "My usual Sunday congregation. I hope you don't mind; I just thought it would be nice for you to have more company on your special day."

Andrew raises an eyebrow at his best man. Lucas merely shrugs and fusses with his tie.

"Fine. Whatever." She hasn't completely stopped smiling. "Just get on with it."

"Good." The priest looks mightily relieved. Malcolm breathes out an audible sigh.

"Dearly beloved," the priest exhorts as the service begins, but Andrew only has eyes and ears for her.

And it goes on, and on, and forever on, and yet it is over too quickly, and the rings are exchanged before he knows what vows he has said, and when it is finally announced that he "may now kiss the bride", he thinks he feels slightly faint.

A hundred scenarios run through his head – he ends up hating them all.

"Oh, sod it," he finally mutters under his breath, and dives straight into it, hard and deep.

He doesn't think there had been, or there ever will be, a kiss quite like this.

When they finally break apart, he hears her question whispered over the applause of the crowd.

"Did you just swear when you kissed me?"

He feels the grin over his whole face. "I might have."

"Good," she returns one of her own. "Because I intend to continue that."

"Some propriety, if you will - this is a church." Malcom tuts from behind, but he is beaming like the rest of them.

And even though she rolls her eyes when the final announcement is made ("I won't be called Mrs. Lawrence, I'll have you know."), he knows she is just as excited as he is.

A second chance. A new life.

They are the lucky ones.

And he is damned well going to make the most of out it.

_Fin._


End file.
